


Soft Talk Began to Harden

by ronans



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:04:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2282850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronans/pseuds/ronans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with a stupid water feature and then Mickey's falling apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Small Hands - Keaton Henson.  
> You just know it's going to be angsty with a beautiful Keaton Henson song. I do apologise. I'll probably go back over this tomorrow.

Mickey likes how crisp the air gets in the winter. He likes how bright the moon is some nights when the sky’s clear. He likes leaning out his window and looking up at it and breathing the smoke steadily out of his lungs. He enjoys the quietness that comes with it at 1AM and the occasional car that will pass by. Chicago doesn’t seem to truly sleep and he likes how he’s not the only one awake. He likes coming home after the night shift at work and relaxing with a cigarette or two.

What he doesn’t like is that all people living in his block of apartments are allowed to contribute one thing to the garden. He doesn’t care that he hasn’t made his mark in the communal space, doesn’t really use it. What _does_ fucking irritate him is that some douchebag in the floor above or below or where the fuck ever decided that a goddamn _water feature_ would be an excellent installation. The thing was put in literally in the space of six hours sometime the week previously when he was at work covering for Julia.

He didn’t actually notice it until he opened his window to have his nightly smoke and suddenly his ears were assaulted with the sound of a waterfall – a sound extremely out of place in the south side of Chicago. The thing never stops, goes on throughout the night and during the day, pissing Mickey off to no end. He’s asked around but no one seems to know who exactly put it there. He’ll get to the fucking bottom of it, there’s absolutely no need for the one place he can actually feel calm to be disrupted by a chick thinking what a fantastic idea it is to have something so pretentious and unnecessary in his back yard. He assumes it’s a chick, because no guy he knows would actually choose to waste money on something like that. Especially in the south side. Seriously, who here has any fucking money to spare for that? Everyone else had been content to buy a crappy set of deck chairs to stake their claim in their run down yard. Mickey’s found himself on more than twelve occasions barely restraining himself from taking his crowbar to it.

Eventually, Mickey decides that enough’s enough and marches downstairs to the front desk, demanding to know who exactly shelled out the money for the fucking thing. The girl there looks bored out of her mind, and Mickey’s still in awe that they actually have a front desk in his building – it’s a pretty shit poor neighbourhood.

She absently pulls out a notebook from behind the desk and flicks through it, popping her gum. ‘Uh, says here that… Mr Lishman in 306 bought it.’ She shrugs and then glances up at him, a silent indication that he should go away now.

‘Thanks,’ he grumbles out before pushing off the desk and instantly making his way back up the stairs. The elevator’s permanently broken. His destination’s Lishman’s apartment. He’s gonna tell the asshole to tear that shit down because it’s honestly doing his fucking head in. If he’s had to end back up in this part of the city, he wants to at least feel okay in his own place.

His tattooed knuckles slam repeatedly against the door, brass numbers rattling from where they’re badly drilled into the wood. When the door swings open, he knows that the breathless guy on the other side of it most definitely is _not_ called Mr Lishman. His breathing speeds up and his throat feels like it’s closing. There’s no way a person’s chest should feel this tight so he guesses he’s having a panic attack. Great.

‘Mickey?’

 _Shit no_. He hasn’t seen Ian in about six months. He’d settled into his apartment (for one) pretty damn well and blocked out everything but his daily routine. This isn’t happening. He just aches a bit more because Ian looks good. He looks healthy where Mickey looks like someone completely fucked him up. They had, of course, and the culprit’s standing right there in front of him looking confused and normal and _Jesus Christ_ Mickey can’t take it.

‘Ian?’ he breathes out, a scowl on his face. He’s found aggression’s always a good emotion to display when he feels like he’s breaking.

Ian taps his fingers against the door and his features have smoothed out, something close to clarity in his eyes. ‘How did you get my address?’

Mickey flinches back and shakes his head in disbelief. ‘The fuck makes you think I’d want to see you?’

He feels stupid when Ian looks pointedly at him. Oh yeah, he’s standing outside what’s apparently Ian’s apartment on the verge of screaming. He shakes his head again and scrunches his hand in his too long hair. He hadn’t been paying much attention to its length recently, hadn’t really been the first thing on his mind.

‘You ain’t Mr Lishman,’ he grunts out, looking anywhere but Ian. He’s wearing a tight fitting Henley and dark blue jeans that hug his thighs.

Ian frowns then, staring at Mickey curiously. ‘How do you know about Mr Lishman?’

‘Stop asking me questions!’ Mickey bursts out, a bite in his tone. Ian shifts and he looks a little reluctant. Mickey’s all out of sorts, trying to figure out how the hell he got into this situation – just another fucking reason to add to the list of why he should absolutely break down that water fountain thing with his crowbar.

‘Why are you here?’ Ian sighs, the door swinging slightly as he agitatedly moves his hand back and forth against it. Mickey lets out a long gust of air and paces a little in the small space of the hallway.

‘This isn’t- Look, who the fuck put that fucking water shit out there?’ he demands and he can feel his face heating up as he works himself up. Seriously, Ian’s fucked him up, he can’t even act like he’s okay anymore and that scares him. He’s always been good at hiding.

The frown just gets deeper and Ian’s looking at him with detached sort of intrigue as if this isn’t even affecting him, as if he’s just another neighbour coming to complain but _he’s not_. ‘Uh, I did. But I didn’t pay for it.’

Mickey throws his arms up and chews on his lip. He can’t think straight, he can’t act normally, he’s getting too frustrated over one thing, he should probably just run away. He can deal with the sound of the water, he doesn’t need to be here.

‘Who did, then?’

‘…Ned.’

And isn’t that just a fucking punch in the gut. He’s scarcely keeping from physically wheezing. ‘Who the hell is Ned?’

Ian’s eyes are darting around like he doesn’t want to answer. Mickey gets it, Ian’s with someone else, someone richer than him, someone who can buy him all the gay shit he wants. Mickey couldn’t do that. ‘It’s been a long time, Mick.’

‘Don’t call me that,’ he chokes out. Jesus, when did he get so emotional. He can’t take this, he can’t take it. For a second, Ian actually looks pained. Finally, a reaction that tells Mickey that Ian hasn’t forgotten everything. They used to love each other once.

‘Sorry… Sorry, I… Sorry.’

Mickey lets out a humourless chuckle and then decides that he’s going to follow his advice and leave. ‘Yeah, well whatever, I just came here to tell you that that fucking water fountain, whatever the hell it is, is fucking annoying so take it the fuck down or I will,’ he pushes out through his mouth before striding away. He doesn’t even hear Ian call out to him. He guesses Ian doesn’t really have a reason to keep him near anymore. He can’t help but think about all the other times he’d walked away from him, only for Ian to grab him or yell at him to stop. And he would.

*

They were good at smoking together. It didn’t require talking. Now Mickey can’t even smoke to calm his nerves because his chest feels like it’ll cave in if he reminds himself of anything to do with the ginger haired fucker. It’s horrible. It feels like his guts are spilling out of him, like someone’s put a clamp around his dead fucking heart and started screwing it tighter and tighter.

He needs to smoke but he can’t, he needs to run but where the fuck would he go? He can’t go to Mandy’s, he knows he’s not welcome there anymore; she chose a side and she’s sticking to it. Friends over blood.

Maybe he should go out and find someone to fuck, girl or guy, whoever, anyone to take his mind off his brain. It hurts, he can’t explain it. Ian Gallagher fucked him up, he can’t say it enough.

He did everything for him. If Mickey three years ago, the same Mickey who was just with Ian for a quick, quiet fuck, could see him now he’d probably forcefully slam his knuckles into his face. Maybe he wouldn’t mind that – physical pain could distract from the mental pain.

Mickey feels like he hates himself. He feels like he can’t handle the shitstorm in his head, can’t deal with the idea that Ian doesn’t even care. Ian’s not even two floors away from him and he’s never felt so far away. He doesn’t know when he’d lost it, but the sharp edge he’d had to deflect any emotion, any closeness, is completely gone and he doesn’t know where that leaves him. He tried to stay away from Ian to avoid this thing ever happening, but here he is, almost crumpled on the floor because he’s never felt so alone.

It’s the most stupid fucking thing to get angry over but he’s left his window open and the sound of the water filters in through the crack. He screams and grabs his battered radio, throwing it straight out of the window and feeling even worse when he hears the splash of it hitting the target.

*

_‘I didn’t think we’d ever be able to do this, you know?’_

_Mickey glances tensely down at their clasped hands before allowing the corner of his lip to turn up. ‘Neither did I.’_

*

He’s woken up by someone knocking on his door. It’s then he realises that he’d passed out on his couch in his jeans and thick grey jumper. There’s a small empty bottle of Jack in his hand that he never remembered drinking.

He’s blissfully numb but when he opens the door and looks into green-blue eyes he’s hurting again.

*

_The snow falls around them. They’re idiots for even stepping outside on a day like this in the dead of the Chicago winter._

_‘Aren’t you cold, man?’_

_‘Nah.’_

_Cigarettes make you warm. Mickey inhales and exhales the blue-white smoke. Ian’s next to him just watching. It’s weird to think they’re in their own back yard, away from the south side, away from the poison. They know they probably can’t escape it for too long, but it’s nice. It’s nice to sit there together when things are okay and they’re not fighting over Mickey’s fucked up mind-set and Ian’s unrealistic expectations and inability to take things slowly. They’re okay for a little while and that’s good enough._

*

A few moments pass where they don’t speak and Mickey feels like it could be forever. He wants to punch Ian. He wants to kill Ian. He wants to scream at him, and tell him how shit he feels, how Ian’s ruined everything for him. One, for leaving him because everything somehow wasn’t enough, and two, for fucking worming his way back into his life through something as ridiculous as a fountain in a fucking south side apartment garden. It’s a stupid coincidence.

Ian’s holding his breath, and Mickey wants to remind him to breathe, but then again he wants to just stay in silence. He hates to admit it to himself, but even if they’re in silence, at least Ian’s fucking _there_. Even if he’s moved on with someone else, at least he’s _here_ , he’s come to see Mickey.

He doesn’t expect Ian to kiss him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what I'm doing

_It’s hot; too hot to sleep. The fans are whirring next to the window, desperately trying to cool them both down. It’s mid-afternoon and they’re still in bed, too lazy to move and even though the sheets are sticking to them, they’re pretty damn content. Ian’s clammy hands are clasped around Mickey’s forearm and he’s closed in on himself, curled up like he’s shielding himself from the world or keeping himself in the moment._

_‘Mick?’_

_‘Hm?’_

_But Ian doesn’t say anything, just sighs and lets go of Mickey, rolling away from him, like he can’t stand facing him._

_‘What is it?’_

_‘Mickey.’_

_‘What?’ Mickey’s not relaxed anymore; he can feel irritation burning its way up his throat. Ian rolls back towards him and his eyes are wide._

_‘I think I love you.’_

_The anger’s gone. Mickey reaches over and brushes some hair off Ian’s forehead and then thumbs his temple._

*

He feels slightly sick that Ian’s not there when he wakes up again. One thing had led to another and then they were doing exactly what Mickey had needed and missed for months. He feels even worse about himself now. The fact that his right arm’s stretched across the bed like it’s waiting for someone to nestle against it… it’s so much worse.

Mickey thinks Ian’s a fucking idiot. He lives in the same building as him, it’d be so easy to track him down, maybe slam him into a wall and beat the shit out of him, hurt him so Mickey doesn’t hurt so much and feel so used. He should probably call Mandy and tell her what Ian did and how much of a sack of shit he is in the hopes that his sister might start liking him again. None of this was his fucking fault, why didn’t anyone understand that?

He’s startled out of his fog of self-loathing and hopelessness when he hears a groan and the pop of bones stretching from the front room. He stumbles out of bed and looks out from his bedroom doorway to see Ian sitting up on the sofa, rubbing a hand through his hair.

‘You want a coffee?’ he hears himself ask in a scratchy voice. It’s nice that Ian jumps at the sound of it.

‘Jesus,’ Ian mutters, turning his head to look behind him at Mickey. ‘That would be great, thanks.’

Fuck, why does Mickey remember how he likes his coffee? ‘Sure.’

There’s an elephant in the room and Mickey’s not going to address it, he likes watching Ian squirm, watching him figure out how to explain his shitty actions over and over again. ‘Uh-‘

‘What?’

The coffee machine clicks unevenly and Mickey absently taps one of the many sugar packets he’d lifted from work against the counter. It’s a nice rhythm; distracting.

‘I’m sorry.’

Mickey drowns out everything but Ian’s voice. He focuses on it and how it sounds wrecked. It shouldn’t, really, because Ian’s been pretty distant towards the situation.

‘Fuck off,’ Mickey grunts.

‘I’m serious,’ Ian whispers and he almost doesn’t catch it it’s that quiet. It’s bullshit. ‘I… I got time to think.’

‘We all got fuckin’ time to think, Gallagher,’ Mickey responds petulantly. The coffee’s nearly ready.

Ian’s smile is weak at best. ‘Mickey.’

 _Oh, fucking hell_. ‘Shut the fuck up.’

‘It’s always been us, hasn’t it? Ned doesn’t mean any-‘

‘Don’t. Don’t do that,’ Mickey says coldly. He doesn’t give a shit about any of this, about any of Ian’s lame reasons that are going to trap Mickey again, about how he probably wants to turn this into a thing, wants it to continue. ‘Why were you out here on the couch?’ His mouth doesn’t seem to be connected to his brain.

Ian’s uncomfortable now and Mickey thinks that for all his fucking idiotic mumbling about how he’s been thinking about him, he really wishes he was further away. It stings, he feels used. ‘You started… hugging me in your sleep and shit and I-‘

Mickey can feel his face heating up. He’s not sure whether it’s rage or embarrassment. ‘So for all the crap you’ve been spouting, you don’t actually want this.’

‘I do. I just… I missed it and… I didn’t know-’

‘Cut the shit. Seriously. Just stop.’ Mickey’s voice is sharp and he’s forgotten about the coffee. ‘Tell me why the fuck you came up here in the first place.’

The uneasiness rolling off Ian is palpable and Mickey almost tries to strangle the air. ‘I needed you.’

The pinch behind his eyes is hard to ignore. He’s done it before, restrained the tears, but it’s never been so fucking hard. ‘You don’t get to do this to me, you-‘ He can’t finish the sentence.

Ian’s eyebrows have pulled together. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Fuck you,’ Mickey spits, turning around and away from Ian. He realises he’d moved closer to Ian and he’d started jabbing a finger at him. He’s so fucking angry it’s like the emotion’s actually swirling inside him, mixing in with his blood and feeding his muscles. God, he needs to punch something.

‘I pushed you too much.’

Fucking understatement.

*

_‘It’s a party, Mickey, it’s not that big of a deal.’_

_‘If it’s not such a big deal, why the fuck are you being such an asshole about me going?’_

_Ian’s all dressed up in a leather jacket and his hair’s slicked back. ‘Are you ashamed or something?’_

_Mickey could laugh, he could honestly laugh. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’_

_Ian actually does laugh. It’s hollow, but it’s laughter. ‘You’re ashamed.’_

_Ian’s out of the door before Mickey can tell him to go fuck himself. He’s got to be messed up if he thinks_ that’s _the reason Mickey’s a little slower than most at showing people how he feels. He shoves his headphones in his ears and switches off, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s so fucked up._

*

After Ian’s left and Chicago’s coated in darkness, Mickey opens his closet and looks at his crowbar. His knuckles crack as he grips it and runs down the stairs. Nobody stops him as the metal whips through the air and comes crashing down repeatedly against the stupid rocks and the pathetic, spluttering filter. It’s quiet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was just listening to Cemetery by Charlie Simpson and a lot of the lyrics are pretty fitting with this fic actually. So if you want, give it a listen. Thank you so much for the comments and kudos :)

He meets Ned on a Sunday afternoon and he’d rather not ever repeat the experience. He’s old. So old that Mickey wonders if the Grim Reaper’s on his back, waiting for him to keel over. Well, maybe not _that_ old, but still enough to make him shudder when he thinks about where Ian’s dick’s been. He doesn’t actually realise who the guy is until halfway through their conversation.

Work had been slow and Julia had been sick again. Julia’s always sick. He wonders why his boss still hires her. He’s walking into the lobby and glancing at the peeling paint as he jabs at the elevator button. It’s still broken.

‘Well hi there.’ His voice makes him want to retch. It’s smarmy and suggestive in all the ways Mickey hates.

His eyebrows rise to impossible heights as he swivels on his heel to look at the guy. He’s raking his eyes over Mickey’s form and he feels _vile_. ‘Who the fuck are you?’

‘Lloyd,’ he answers easily, actually fucking licking his lips. He’s leaning on the front desk and there’s no one else in the hallway but them. ‘You know, that thing doesn’t work. I’ve put in a complaint.’

There’s no way a guy wearing a goddamn designer suit and loafers actually lives in the building, but he asks anyway. ‘Good luck gettin’ a response. You live here?’ His tone’s bored and he just wishes the stationary elevator would hurry the fuck up and fix itself. To go up the stairs, he’d have to put himself in ass grabbing distance from the geriatric pervert. Nope, he’ll take his chances on the elevator miraculously working before he jeopardizes his renewed reputation in the building and breaks all of the guy’s knuckles. Nobody had found out about who smashed up Ian’s water feature yet, so he was still in people’s good books.

Ned grins and shakes his head and if that isn’t the most condescending look ever. ‘Nope… I’ve got a… _friend_ here.’ One lewd gesture later and Mickey knows exactly who this fucker is. His chest’s throbbing and it’s not just because of his elevated heartbeat.

His teeth lock around a chunk of skin on the inside of his cheek. He wonders if he should say something but he’s saved. It feels more like he’s been kicked into some fire in Hell, but he could look at it as being saved.

‘Ned? What’re you- oh.’

Ian’s voice is small. He doesn’t look happy and there are circles under his eyes, but Mickey doesn’t want to think about it. Ian left, Ian fucked _him_ up, in his mind he deserves all of the guilt and confusion he’s experiencing. But damn if he doesn’t feel a twinge of pain staring Ian’s torment in the face.

Fucking Ned, looking between them with that awful look of lust in his eyes. ‘You know each other?’

‘Ha!’ Mickey pronounces the word and there’s no mirth. He’s so, so bitter. His teeth, they’re sinking into his bottom lip and he just wants to keep going.

Ian’s wincing over and over again like Mickey’s voice is echoing in his brain. It probably is, it has done before. ‘Mick.’

Mickey’s face is frozen and memories shouldn’t have the power to overwhelm him all at once. They’re ridiculous. They’re Ian calling out to him in the queue at a thrift store, they’re Ian holding his hand as they’re watching a film and pointing out how shit the special effects are, they’re Ian screaming at him to just say something back to him in the middle of a one-sided argument. Mickey nearly stumbles back, it’s far too much.

It’s so silent, only the buzz of the fucked up elevator button permeating the quiet. Ned looks like he’s hit the jackpot and it’s creepy. Ian looks like he’s just had the ground pulled out from under his feet. Why? Mickey doesn’t fucking know. He doesn’t know Ian anymore, doesn’t know how the hell he’s supposed to deal with how he acts.

‘Threesome?’

Mickey sees red. ‘Blunt asshole, ain’t ya?’

He shrugs. ‘I wouldn’t mind going after a little Jack Daniels to go with my orange juice.’ The wink. The fucking wink. Mickey’s going to kill him.

‘Mickey, don’t,’ Ian says hoarsely, reading the situation. Mickey doesn’t owe Ian anything. Why the hell would he leave this alone?

He shakes his head and scratches the side of his nose, glaring between the two men in front of him, considering his options. ‘What do you want me to do, then?’

‘Join us, maybe-‘

‘Not you, fuckhead,’ Mickey hisses, cutting the older man off. ‘Ian. What do you want me to do?’ He says it slowly, eyes boring into Ian’s. He’s not even sure what he’s asking, but he goes ahead anyway.

‘Don’t leave.’

*

_‘Don’t leave.’_

_Ian’s face is stony, though, and Mickey can tell he’s made up his mind._

_‘Mickey, I’m so sick of living this lie.’_

_‘I’m not… I’ve not- I’ve never lied to you, Ian.’ He doesn’t even care if he sounds desperate. The words are lies themselves and they both know it. Ian’s smirk is venomous._

_‘Lip told me I can crash at his for a while. You should probably find somewhere to go too.’_

_The pain behind his eyes is fucking unbearable and sadly not foreign. He wishes he were stronger and more convincing, but Ian’s taught him to be different, changed him and moulded him into a new being. It’s not fucking right for him to just leave. ‘So that’s it, huh? You just start all this shit with me, a whole new fucking life, and I don’t hold your goddamn hand in front of your faggot friends one time and it’s done?’_

_God, Ian looks furious. There’s red radiating off him, seeping into Mickey’s space. It’s infectious and so Mickey’s angry too. ‘You’re kidding, right? You’re fucking joking.’_

_‘Nah, this… You leave and that’s…’ He’s feeling the anger all through his bones, all consuming. He can’t speak. If he speaks, he’ll shout incoherently and probably throw a few punches._

_‘I’m leaving because I can’t deal with this anymore, okay?! You’re fucking killing me, Mickey. I_ need _a healthy relationship, I_ need _to show people who I fucking love!’_

_‘If you love me, don’t fucking leave!’ Mickey yells. He’s breathing so hard it’s all he can hear. His eyes are watering and he’s staring at the little suitcase that’s leant against Ian’s shin. There’s no way that thing would fit all the memories they’ve built in the house they’re standing in alone. He assumes Ian will come back once he knows Mickey’s gone._

_There’s a sorry on the tip of Ian’s tongue but he doesn’t say it. The door slams on his way out._

*

Mickey lets out a broken laugh and doesn’t think twice before he sprints out of the building door and carries on through the snow. Once he’s far enough away, he fishes out his phone and stares at it for a while before opening his contacts and selecting the only number he has stored there aside from work.

It rings. He expects it to be like every other time he’s tried to call her.

‘ _What_?’

There’s a crack in his voice as he talks. ‘I’m not okay and I need you.’

*

_‘Beer?’_

_‘Beer.’_

_‘Movie?’_

_Mickey rolls his eyes and shakes the DVD case for Ian to see. He can feel the smirk on Ian's face from the kitchen, doesn’t need to look._

_‘This’ll be shit, you get that, right?’_

_‘Ah, but you see, that’s the whole point.’ Ian grins as he climbs over the back of the couch and sits so there’s no air between them. Mickey takes the bottle Ian offers and doesn’t move away. He grins back and he’s happy._

_The titles come up on the screen and there’s two seconds of quiet before Ian groans and rattles out a speech based purely on the bad font choices. Mickey ends up laughing until he can’t breathe._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think writing this is actually pretty good for me because I'm starting to notice the noise of the neighbour's water feature less and less.  
> I tried so so hard to reign the tiny Boosh reference in but... I couldn't

He wants to ask Ian why he chose _his_ apartment block of all the places in Chicago. That’s some horrible fucking coincidence right there.

His throat’s burning because, although he’s been smoking since he was like eleven, he’s had too many cigarettes. His brain’s been going over things too much and he wants to escape it but it seems the more he tells his mind _not_ to fucking think, the faster it goes. It’s like a machine designed to do one job in an assembly line. _Tick whirr Ian tick whirr Ian_.

‘Shut the fuck up,’ he snaps at himself. Fuck, it’s bad enough that Ian’s taken over his mind but he’s also filtered the crazy through to his mouth. He’s talking to himself, trying to stifle his own brain.

Mickey rubs a hand distractedly over his face, staring at the moon. It’s a full moon, the best moon. He chuckles to himself but it’s quite a hollow laugh, one that comes out when your insides are broken. Mickey had avoided Ian since his encounter with his new other half, and that had been a fucking struggle. Ian kept popping up all over the apartment building, marking everywhere with his presence. How in the hell was that fair? Mickey was there first, he didn’t need his whole building corrupted by a fucking life ruiner.

‘Huh,’ he breathes out, watching his breath plume out in a white fog. The sky’s clear and he could count the stars if he wanted to. Not that he does. Ian does that sort of shit- _fuck_ , not Ian, stop thinking about Ian.

He’s now pressing the heels of his palms into his eye sockets to stave off this fucking prickle behind his eyes. Jesus, how many times has he cried in the last week?

*

_‘Mandy’s not answering her phone.’_

_Mickey shrugs and takes another swig of his beer. His eyes are trained on the glowing screen in front of him. He can just about pick up the sound of Ian’s footsteps as he makes his way over to him._

_‘Are you fucking watching porn?’_

_Mickey lets out an almost-giggle. He’d never_ actually _giggle, it just sounded that way because he was taking a sip of beer at the same time. Fuck Ian for looking at him like he was the most adorable animal in the pet store. He growls and then slams the laptop shut. ‘Not like I’ve been getting any action off you recently, Gallagher.’_

 _Ian rolls his eyes and follows Mickey back through to the kitchen where he throws his bottle in the trash. ‘You weren’t even getting off on it, just_ staring. _’ Ian laughs, shaking his head. ‘That’s creepy, Mick.’_

_‘Whatever.’_

_Before Ian can make another quip, Mickey’s shoved him back against the fridge and uses the very stare Ian was complaining about to pin him down. Ian’s pupils blow up instantly._

*

‘Fuck!’ Mickey yells, completely shattering the quietness of the night. His lets out a hopeless whine as he presses his palms more firmly into his eyes. He hisses as his cigarette burns his fingers. How long had he been sitting there thinking about absolutely pointless as shit memories?

He’d been so fucking stable the last few months, sure, a little bit robotic, but _stable_. What the hell can he say about his life now? It’s ridiculous that if you pour enough love into someone and it’s taken away that you’re left a pathetic wreck. He feels alone, and that’s a shitty feeling. He’d talked to Mandy, even went as far as to talk her into maybe seeing him at the end of the month. He’s not completely alone, then, but he still feels like he’s the only one there, screaming into the silence.

No one’s complaining about him being too loud. At this point, he wishes someone would start banging the door down, telling him to stop fucking shouting, _anything_. Anything to escape his head. He’ll scream himself hoarse just to find a distraction, to mute his thoughts and stop the murky memories he’d tried so hard to supress from bubbling to the surface.

*

_Ian nibbles his lip when he’s nervous. Not only that, but he tugs at his ear lobe. Mickey’s picked up on his little tells over the last year and a half and he likes to think of himself as pretty fluent in Ian._

_‘The fuck’s up with you?’_

_His head snaps up and he looks so startled, Mickey nearly laughs at his expression. He doesn’t, though. He can tell that the thing plaguing Ian’s mind’s big. He lifts an eyebrow to encourage Ian to go on._

_‘Uh…’_

_He’s got no patience today. ‘Seriously, just tell me.’_

_‘But-‘_

_‘Ian, I’d like to think you can tell me shit that’s on your mind by now, alright?’ Mickey grumbles, chewing on a nail rather than looking Ian in the eyes. He can still see the soft smile, though._

_‘How do you feel about… kids?’_

_Mickey’s eyes have never been wider._

*

Mickey knows his hands are shaking when he gets into work. He’s six minutes late but he doesn’t think that’ll matter much; he’s always been on time before, and he thinks he deserves a little slack for how many fucking shifts he’s been taking for his colleague.

He reaches the office and slings his coat on the floor next to the desk. Mickey’s about to turn around and grab an apron, pen, and paper when his path’s blocked by his boss Hayley. He hardly ever sees her - she’s normally at her other restaurant in Michigan.

‘Mickey,’ she says curtly with a tight smile.

_Fuck no, fuck no, fuck no, fuck no._

‘Hey, Hayley,’ he says. His voice is neutral.

She’s biting at the inside of her cheek and Mickey, for some reason, focuses on the tip of her wide nose instead. ‘I was gonna call you but I thought it would be better to do it in person.’

 _Took the fucking L, then a bus to get here_. ‘Oh?’

‘I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to let you go. This month’s been so slow and we’re pretty overstaffed, I can’t afford it.’

‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ His voice is so cold and sharp. Hayley doesn’t even flinch when he curses.

She sombrely shakes her head and honestly? Mickey’s absolutely fucking sick of that condescending look he seems to constantly be on the receiving end of recently.

‘Fucking Julia’s going too, right? I’ve worked more of that bitch’s shifts than her this month.’

Then she does wince, shuffling uncomfortably and managing to still shoot Mickey a disapproving look for his comments. He’s so done with this shit and he already expects her answer’s going to make him want to gouge out someone’s eyeballs. ‘Well… Julia’s my niece and she’s informed me of her situation, and I trust her. I’m so sorry I’ve had to do this to you, Mickey. You’ve been an amazing worker and I’ll be sure to give you a call if we’re ever short staffed.’

Mickey’s nodding slightly hysterically before she even finishes. ‘Ahh, good old fucking nepotism. I’ll see myself out.’ He’s actually proud of the venom he shoots her with his smile.

He’s not going to get a call back.

His mind’s crumbling and the wall’s breaking down. It’s on the last brick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also! I did the quickest Mickey sketch known to man because I'm in a really sketchy mood today. That didn't come out right... Anyway, yeah, if you want, you can find it here: http://southsidemilkovich.tumblr.com/post/98106909179/soft-talk-began-to-harden


	5. Chapter 5

_‘Ian looks like he’s having fun.’_

_Mickey shrugs dismissively, taking a large gulp of beer instead of looking at his sister. He can see her scantily clad body leaning next to him at the bar from the corner of his eye._

_‘You should go over. He’d love that.’_

_He rolls his shoulders and thinks he hears the click of his own bones. Ian’s bones always crack in the mornings and it irritates the hell out of him. Ian’s not sleepy now, though, he’s surrounded by people, drawing them in with his electric charisma. It’s not the first time Mickey’s felt inadequate. Maybe Mandy senses where his thoughts are going because she sighs and gingerly places a hand on his upper arm._

_‘Mick, stop overthinking. You’re good for him,’ she mutters, leaning in close so her voice can carry over the synthetic drum sounds. He smirks but the expression really doesn’t match his eyes. ‘Go on, get your ass over there and show off for once.’_

_He tells her to go fuck herself and orders a shot or three of whiskey._

*

Mickey’s not sure whether he wants to answer the door for fear it might be Ian. Not like he hadn’t tried coming over before. Eventually, he does, but he should really request to get one of those peephole things put in.

‘Mandy,’ he breathes out, looking his sister up and down in shock. Mandy six months ago and Mandy now are two entirely different people. She’s still got the box fringe but now there are more colours in her hair than ever before, streaking through the dark brown. She cleaned up, though, and Mickey’s surprised that there’s barely any of her skin on show.

‘Hey,’ she replies, weakly.

Fuck, it’s awkward. They’re standing there and they don’t know how to function around each other anymore. And isn't that a just a parallel to every other relationship in Mickey’s life right now. How does he not know how to talk to his own sister?

She tilts her head and her shoulder meets her ear. She’s bunching herself up, clearly uncomfortable.

‘Come in, I guess…’ Mickey sighs, picking at a splinter on the door. She gives him a tight smile and then obliges, glancing around his apartment and hastily taking it in. He knows it’s not much; it’s a piece of shit, really. He doesn’t know where Mandy lives now, what her mind’s comparing everything to.

‘No photos?’

Mickey frowns. It’s one of the most random observations she could have made, and he didn’t even realise it himself. He supposes he doesn’t even really have anything to display anyway. ‘Nah.’

She nods and then turns on her heel, levelling Mickey with a stare. The eye contact lasts for what seems like forever until her face twitches, mouth forming a displeased grimace. He thinks she’s going to decide to leave now, upon actually seeing him. It’s like Mickey’s final beacon of sanity is about to reject him and walk out of the door. She shakes her head and then grips a chunk of her hair in her hand. When she talks, her voice is unexpectedly soft.

‘What the fuck, Mickey?’

He’s even more confused. He scrunches his eyebrows together. ‘Huh?’

‘Why’s it like this between us?’

‘Hey, you fucking left, you’re the one who made this awkward, bitch.’ _Shit_. He inwardly wishes he could take it back, but he can’t help it, the lashing out, the defensiveness, the pure _hurt_ that bleeds into his words. He thanks fucking God that she doesn’t look offended.

She lets her hair drop in a multi coloured blur. It pools around her shoulders and Mickey’s momentarily mesmerised by the movement. ‘You know I had to. Ian’s my best friend.’

‘Hm.’ He doesn’t want to verbally point out the obvious. He feels the _I’m your fucking brother_ is already conveyed in his expression. ‘Sure.’

She looks conflicted, and he worries that she’s going to advance forward and hug him. He doesn’t think he can deal with that physical contact sappy shit right now. ‘I didn’t know if I should come…’

Mickey sniffs as her words slap him. It’s that doubt, the doubt over whether she should help Mickey out when he’s got nothing left that’s the real knife in his chest. ‘Hm,’ he repeats, scratching the side of his nose. What else can he say?

Mandy lets out a short exhale. ‘I’m here for you. I’m sorry I didn’t stick with you, but Ian needed me as well.’ The knife’s twisting around inside him.

 _Kinda fucking needed you more_. ‘Whatever.’

She shakes her head again and looks like she wants to hit her brother. She can take as many fucking swings at Mickey as she’d like, he’s ready for them and doesn’t really have anything to lose. His relationship with his sister’s already shattered, it seems.

‘I wanna fix this. I want it to be like it was before.’

 _Where we used to talk and actually know each other._ It used to be the three of them and it used to be great.

He holds his breath for a few moments before looking her dead in the eyes and fucking himself up even more. What was it with his self-destructive tendencies? ‘It’s never going to be like that again so you might as well just not fucking try.’

Her face is stony and she instantly shuts down her open expression. He almost can’t see her lips they’re pressed together so tightly. ‘You rang _me_ , asshole!’

When his door slams, he’s not even fucking surprised she’s left again.

*

Ian’s singing used to wake Mickey up. He’d groan and desperately feel around for Ian’s pillow so he could shove it over his head and block out the sound.

Now he misses the noise.

*

He doesn’t care how loudly he’s banging on the door anymore, the awareness faded away after he’d chosen the wrong apartment twice. The alcohol sort of fogs his mind, anyway. He doesn’t give a shit about repercussions and pissed off neighbours.

Ian answers on Mickey’s fifth attack to his door. He looks alarmed and Mickey’s _so fucking happy_ that he’s coaxed another reaction out of him.

‘Ay.’

Ian bites down _hard_ on his lower lip. ‘Mickey.’ He’s so hoarse and broken sounding, it’s fucking amazing. Mickey can’t help but grin; he’s finally not in this shit alone, he knows he’s not.

‘So ‘m prob’ly gettin’ evicted so you should, ya know, prob’ly get on me now or never. While you know where I am,’ Mickey stumbles out, a dopey grin on his face. His chest’s still hurting but he feels freer when propositioning the guy who caused the ache. It’s weird and he can’t explain it.

‘What do you mean you’re being evicted?’ Ian’s tone’s so fucking worried for him, it’s so, so great. He feels almost euphoric. He knows he’s fucked up.

‘Ah, man, I can’t _afford_ -I got fired, so…’ Mickey shrugs. He feels so much more comfortable. His life’s a shit show, but he finds himself not even caring a little bit.

‘Why the fuck did they fire you?’ There’s an angry vibration in Ian’s voice. Mickey’s always been a hard worker, Ian knows that. He’s actually being _defensive_.

Mickey shrugs and drums his fingers against the wall next to Ian’s door. He doesn’t know why. He needs to do something with his hands before he grabs onto Ian and actually follows through with his opening offer. ‘Overstaffed. I’m done with that shit. Work so fuckin’ hard and no one fucking wants me.’

Ian’s brow relaxes and there’s an odd sadness in his eyes that Mickey doesn’t want to look at. He’s crippled by the sympathy. ‘That’s not true.’

‘Jesus.’

‘It’s not, Mick.’

‘Oh _fuck_.’ His voice is so raw and his eyes are so full, he’s sure they’re about to overflow any second. Come to think of it, the alcohol really hasn’t fucking helped anything. He’s probably worse off now after opening up to Ian, seeking him out first. ‘Don’t fucking say that.’

Ian just opens the front door wider and wordlessly drags Mickey inside the apartment by his sleeve. The night could go one of two ways from this point, and Mickey’s honestly not sure whether he wants to resolve anything with Ian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I'm doing something with this... I guess...


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was sat outside and the sky was really clear and there was really strong wind blowing some clouds across the really bright moon and I was listening to The Cold by Exitmusic AND THEN yeah I finished this. I'm feeling really good right now, here, have a chapter of the gay fanfic that I'm uploading on the family computer because my laptop's broken.

'You need to get sober,' Ian sighs, guiding Mickey to the beaten up couch. It's the first thing you see when you get inside the apartment. Mickey's never been inside here before and he kinda half wishes he were able to really take it in; he doesn't know if he'll ever see it again.

''m fine,' Mickey grumbles. His head's throbbing with alcohol and pent up feelings.

Ian shakes his head and chooses to perch on the coffee table while Mickey's collapsed on the couch. 'Mickey what happened?'

'You fucking well know what happened.' Mickey's voice is cutting. Good. He's fucking glad Ian's face looks warped with pain through his hazy vision.

'I meant tonight. Specifically,' Ian croaks.

'Oh.' What the hell can he tell him? The truth sounds really fucking pathetic but his brain's really not in the right state to effectively bullshit his way through a response. He loosely shrugs against the cushions. 'Got nothin' left. No job. No one.'  

He's never actually witnessed a guy's heart breaking. Ian looks like something similar is happening to him though. He's crumpled a bit and his face is filled up with a clusterfuck of emotions. Mickey's overwhelmed and scared and completely out of his depth. That face is directed at _him_. Fucking Christ.

'Why'd you say that?'

Voice cracks. Scratchy tone and abused lips. Ian.

''S true.' There's no other way to put it. Mickey Milkovich is alone in the world and his life hasn't really meant anything.

Ian looks like he wants to touch Mickey. 'You know I've always been there for you.'

'Oh Jesus, don't fucking start that bullshit. No, I don't need it.' Mickey's started pacing and suddenly there's anger, blistering white hot anger. He can't reel it in. 'I don't need you saying this shit just so you can keep a clear fucking conscience. Nah.'

Ian lets out a long breath of air and suddenly he's not showing any emotion. 'Fine. Think what you wanna think and sleep this off.'

He stands up and Mickey just glares at him in confusion. 'What? Where?'

Mickey's missed his eye roll so much and he almost smiles at it. 'Here, jackass. On the couch.'

'Thanks,' Mickey mumbles, staring at the floorboards instead of Ian's face. He's sure they both look tired. He trudges back over to the couch and sinks into the lumpy cushions while Ian wordlessly walks into what Mickey assumes is his bedroom. He's sure that if he weren't so drunk he'd have trouble getting to sleep, but he passes out as soon as his head hits the back of the sofa.

*

Mickey's already staring up at the ceiling when Ian wanders blearily out of his room. His hair always sticks up in the mornings, once he's let it get a little longer. Mickey knows this, but wishes he didn't, without even having to look over.

He does, though, look over. For a moment he thinks Ian's forgotten about the previous night even though it was Mickey who was the one who drank half a liquor store. But it's obvious he hasn't because the longing glance he shoots over at Mickey is anything but subtle. Maybe he should have taken up on last night's offer of fucking if he was still so hung up on it.

'You wanna tell me about last night now that you're sober?' Ian asks, voice still gravelly from sleep. He leans against the wall opposite as Mickey just gulps and carries on studying the slight damp patch on the ceiling. This really is a shitty apartment block.

'Jesus, Mickey!' Ian explodes. 'We've already slept together, you'd think we'd be able to at least fucking _talk_!'

'You were just a warm body, okay. What happened the other week shouldn't have happened,' he murmurs.

'That's bullshit.'

Well, hell, he's got him there.

'What the fuck ever.'

Ian smiles in some bitter triumph and pushes off the wall to march into the kitchen. Mickey tracks his movements, can't find it in himself not to. 'I've only got fruit tea,' Ian grumbles and it takes Mickey a minute to pick up on the new topic.

He scrunches his eyebrows and rubs at his eyes. 'You drink that faggy shit now?'  
Ian snorts humourlessly and rifles through his cupboards as Mickey sits up and cracks his back.

'Fuck off, Ned liked that stuff, not me.'

'Ah, Ned.'

An awkwardness settles between them then. Mickey's kind of used to the feeling now but that doesn't mean it doesn't make him feel any less sick, he's just... learned to ignore it, to deal with it.

Eventually, Ian, being the fucking loudmouth Mickey's used to, decides it's time he breaks the silence. 'Ned... Ned was just... I needed to get over you, alright?' Ian sounds irritable and like he really didn't want any of that to come out of his mouth. He's looking at Mickey now instead of the endless rows of mugs he seems to have stocked in his cupboards. Mickey nods slowly and chews at his lip.

'How's that working out for you?'

He can't help asking.

An acid laced laugh travels from the kitchen and there's a sharp sound of what Mickey thinks is ceramic chipping. 'What do you think?'

'Oh, right, yeah,' Mickey snickers, grinning just so he doesn't frown until his face breaks.

'Yeah,' Ian echoes, finally giving up on making whatever the fuck he was making. Honestly, Mickey didn't want to swallow anything that Ned had. And yeah, right now that even included what came out of Gallagher's dick.

'Mickey please talk to me.' Ian's voice is so small and scratchy that Mickey almost doesn't catch it. His brain processes the words and takes in how Ian's leaning on the kitchen counter, head bent and shoulders hunched.

Mickey shrugs even though Ian can't see him and rubs his hand over the stubble on his cheek. Fuck, is he really thinking about talking to _Ian_ about his shit heap of a life while he's sober? Yeah... He guesses he is.

'Nothing with Mandy's gonna get fixed and she was the last one left.'

*

_Mandy's got tear tracks down her cheeks when she knocks on Ian's door. He instantly pulls her inside and into a hug without even thinking about it._

_'Fucking Lip,' Mandy groans into his chest. Ian's grip tightens at the mention of his brother._

_Mandy sniffles into the fabric of his pyjama top and digs her nails into his back. Mickey coughs in his sleep in Ian's bedroom so he inclines his head to the sliding door out to the balcony. They manoeuvre their way through the newly packed boxes scattered throughout the room and step outside._

_The crisp air hits them and Ian instantly lights up a cigarette, taking a drag before passing it straight to Mandy. Her hair's all over the place and she looks like she dressed in a hurry._

_'What did he do now?' Ian grits out between clenched teeth. Mandy exhales smoke into the night and it suits her. It's killing her but it suits her._

_'He treats me like trash. Like he doesn't want me. I give him the fucking world, Ian, why the hell can't he appreciate that?'_

_Mandy bites the inside of her cheek and shakes her head, staring out over the railing, down onto the littered alley just outside Ian's apartment._

_'He's a fucking idiot... I think... I don't want to justify how he treats you, Mands, but he's been fucked over in the past.’_

_She grimaces and hands the cigarette back to Ian. 'Yeah,' she whispers._

_'I'll talk to him.' His voice is soft and caring and he places a hand on Mandy's arm. Her frown's then replaced by a small grin and she suddenly drags him into a tight hug, burying her face in his chest. Automatically he hugs her back._

_'Thanks... I owe you.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that helps explain a little more of Ian and Mandy's back story for you :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to post this yesterday but I had an impromptu birthday party and... it was quite something. Needless to say I didn't have the time to post this, but here you go :)

Ian holds his face with a tenderness he’s not experienced in a long time. It’s freaking him out a little that his heart can still stutter at a touch. And Gallagher doesn’t even have to talk to make him feel this way.

His thumbs against his cheeks, the hitches of breath in his ear.

‘Ian.’

‘Hm?’

‘What are we doin’?’

Ian shrugs; he can feel the brush of his shoulders against his chest. In the time Mickey had been talking, Ian had migrated from the kitchen to Mickey’s make-shift bed and, although he wouldn’t admit it, it felt fucking  _amazing_  to just touch Ian and it not be about sex for once.

‘I don’t know what this is but… I’ve missed you so fucking much, Mickey.’ His voice is muffled and thick as he talks into Mickey’s shoulder, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Gingerly, Mickey lifts his hand from Ian’s back and places it in his hair, moving his fingers through the strands. He always used to do it. Ian groans. ‘Fucking… missed it. I’m so sorry I left.’

‘I get it.’  _No I don’t_.

‘I’m so  _so_  sorry about Mandy, Mick, I swear, I never meant to split you two up, I was selfish, she was my friend, I-‘

Mickey cuts him off by gripping his hair more tightly – almost painfully tight – and breathes out a light ‘sshh’. This seems to placate Ian but Mickey’s mind’s racing now.

 _They fit so well together it was scary_.

He thinks about how fucking hard he'd tried to avoid being in this situation, and yet he's found himself holding his ex-boyfriend (of whom he suspects is on the verge of a full-blown breakdown, just like himself) whilst remembering how his sister dropped him out of her life without fucking question. 

‘I expected too much of you, Mickey, I know, I don’t know why the hell I left,’ Ian chokes out, clutching at Mickey’s neck with desperation. If Mickey weren’t so attached to the guy, he’d think it was kind of pathetic. As he stands, he’s craving the contact and his voice. ‘I was just so sick of getting rejected all the damn time.’

‘I never fucking rejected you,’ he bites out. He feels like he should at least stick up for himself a little. Trying to suck up to Ian all the time’s tough work hen he’s grown up being a defensive asshole.

Ian sits up at this, though he’s still straddling Mickey. He hadn’t actually taken the time to consider how fucking awkward a position they were in, sprawled out on Ian’s piece of shit couch and practically screaming into each other’s bodies.

‘Mickey, I felt like  _nothing_.  _Every single time_ you denied we were anything but friends. I fucking hurt.’

‘Oh Jesus Christ, are you fucking serious right now? You knew what you were-‘

It’s so sudden that Mickey keeps talking into Ian’s mouth for a few seconds before he even realises it’s  _on his swallowing whatever the fuck he was saying_. He can’t remember, it doesn’t matter anymore because, fuck, nothing matters, he’s missed Ian.

*

_‘You’re a complete shithead.’_

_‘Yeah, okay, just because you fucking lost.’_

_Mandy rolls her eyes and smacks the pool cue into Mickey’s skull._

_‘What the fuck, Mandy?! Jesus!’ Mickey rubs at the back of his head until he feels a pair of lips ghost over his knuckles. ‘Ay, get off me…’_

_Instantly, the warmth disappears and he can practically_ feel _Ian’s glare at the back of his, still throbbing, head. He can’t take any chances in a place like this, though. He can’t really care if Ian’s feelings are hurt because this is a South Side bar, packed with people who could do him damage, who know his dad._

_Mandy’s face falls too and there’s this pit forming in his stomach, guzzling up all the casual happiness of the day._

*

Maybe it had counted as rejection but it doesn’t matter now. All Mickey’s thinking is that past is past and as his skin slips against Ian’s he’d do  _any_ thing for him.

His brain’s clouding up with hazy memories of all the other times they’d been like this.

There’s a lump in Mickey’s throat as they lie on the couch, sweat cooling, pulses slowing gradually.  It takes a lot to remove his hand from where it’s buried in Ian’s hair, but he does it. He lightly shoves Ian’s shoulder and, clearly reluctantly, Ian gets the picture and moves off him.

‘I need a smoke,’ Mickey croaks and he fucking hates that wrecked voice he’s gained from all the moaning.

‘Okay,’ Ian whispers like if he speaks too loud Mickey will jump out the fucking window. Mickey just rolls his eyes at this and picks up his jeans from the floor, fishing around in the pockets for his cigarettes and engraved lighter. It ticks him off that it had been a present from Ian. When he’d felt like he’d hit rock bottom, why hadn’t he thought to have thrown it out? Maybe because he’d hoped he could be happy with Ian again.

He shakes his head and purses his lips, cigarette dangling from between them. He doesn’t need to fill his brain with sappy fucking maybes. Mickey can hear the shift of fabric as Ian gets up, taking advantage of Mickey just standing in the middle of the living room like a goddamn simpleton and wrapping his arms around him from behind. Mickey sinks into it for a moment before shrugging him off and making his way over to the window. The layout’s exactly the same as his own apartment. Kind of… eerie, he guesses.

Ian lets out a sigh and the amount of air he exhales could have blown down a fucking tree.

‘What?’ Mickey grunts around a plume of smoke. He may as well humour Ian, because that’s so obviously what he wants.

‘You came to me. Don’t act like nothing happened now because I swear to god it’ll break me.’

Melodramatic Ian. Never has changed. Mickey flicks his eyes over to Ian’s apprehensive face. It’s just the same.

*

_‘We’re a couple.’_

_Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up, practically meeting his hairline. ‘The fuck did you just say, Gallagher?’_

_The look on Ian’s face says he knows his words were risky, but shit, he doesn’t seem like he’s going to back down. ‘Come on, Mick, admit it. We’ve been doing this for how long? Six months? It’s not just fucking anymore.’_

_Mickey lets out a disbelieving breath of a laugh. Gallagher may say the words with confidence but Mickey’s picked up on the hint of nervousness in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything in reply because he doesn’t want that nervousness to morph into hurt and rejection… Doesn’t mean he fucking cares about the ginger asshole._

_He can see him smiling now, like he’s fucking won because of Mickey’s silence. Mickey bites his cheek to stop the grin infecting him too._

*

‘I want to try again. I want things to be better this time.’

Ian’s words, not Mickey’s. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t thinking the same thing, though.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I've got my laptop back now though so hopefully the last two chapters (yep not long to go now) will be up more quickly :)

_‘It’s pretty fuckin’ small.’_

_‘You don’t just upgrade to full on North Side, Mick, baby steps,’ Ian chuckles. ‘And anyway, don’t be so negative, at least it’s a_ house _, huh?’_

 _‘Yeah, yeah, alright,’ Mickey replies, finally letting himself smile. It’s so ridiculous because, if he thinks about it, it’s a pretty ugly entrance hall, all exposed floorboards and paint that could do with a touch up and Ian’s shabby side table placed just opposite the door is the only furniture in sight. It’s bare, it’s rough around the edges, but it’s… it’s_ theirs _. They’ve moved into a_ house _together and that’s a pretty big deal._

_‘I know you didn’t want to go for this one, but I’ve got a good feeling about it…’ Ian murmurs, dragging a hand across the wall and glancing up at the ceiling which, fuck yes, not a shred of mould in sight._

_‘I trust you, man.’ Mickey picks at a nail to avoid Ian’s gaze and proceeds to walk through to the living room. Small as hell but he can see what Ian likes about it. He can see how they’ll fit in._

_Ian comes up behind him and slips an arm around his waist as they both look out of the large window. ‘We’re gonna be happy here, Mickey, I know it.’_

_‘You say that but you can’t tell the future.’_

_There’s some vibration against Mickey’s back as Ian laughs and bends in to press his mouth swiftly against Mickey’s cheek. ‘So negative,’ Ian repeats before pulling away and going into the kitchen, leaving Mickey swaying in the middle of the room without the support of Ian’s body. ‘You want something to eat? I didn’t bring any food from my apartment, so I’m assuming- Oh, Mickey! I told you to bring_ your _food.’_

_‘We arguin’ already?’ Mickey sighs with some amusement. Ian grimaces at him and slams the fridge shut._

_‘Wasn’t even plugged in,’ Ian admits, making his way back over to Mickey, pulling him in for a tight hug, frown gone._

_‘Well aren’t you fuckin’ affectionate today,’ Mickey grumbles, but he still returns the hug._

_‘I’m happy. I’m really fucking happy.’_

*

Mickey takes another bite of the toast Ian had made him and leans back in his seat. They’d been doing this for weeks now, taking things as they came. They hadn’t talked too much about what they actually were, but they both knew that they were working towards how it was before, Ian just hoping Mickey would be more open to letting people know about them. Mickey still isn’t sure he’s ready for it, but his life’s been a lot less of a struggle since Ian’s become a fixture again.

‘You want any more coffee?’

‘Nah.’

For the last three nights Mickey hasn’t even seen the inside of his apartment – they’d shut his heating off and fuck if he could afford to buy groceries. Ian could. Mickey didn’t know how, but he could, so here he is.

‘Suit yourself.’

He doesn’t know why, but his eyebrows wrinkle and he feels suddenly uneasy, like he has to… talk. Oh _shit_.

‘Ian?’

Ian’s head instantly snaps around to look at Mickey, picking up on the waver in his voice. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Uh, I just… I don’t fucking know.’

As soon as Ian sits next to him, Mickey places his arm around the other man’s waist. Ian looks a little shocked at this because, really, how often does Mickey Milkovich initiate contact? ‘Please tell me.’

‘How are you paying for stuff?’ Not even the question he’d wanted to ask, but he might as well know the answer to that too. Ian looks extremely uncomfortable with the question though, and Mickey’s expecting him to say ‘ _oh, anything but that question, Mickey_ ’ but he doesn’t. He guesses he respects that he doesn’t lie.

‘Ned still pays for-‘

‘Oh my fucki- are you fucking kidding me?!’ Mickey stands up and effectively throws off the hand Ian had placed on his leg. Ian looks away and purses his lips. ‘Ian!’

‘I’m sorry, alright? I’m not seeing him anymore but he’s a decent guy-‘

‘He’s old as fuck,’ Mickey spits out.

Ian rolls his eyes and then shakes his head, shifting on the sofa. ‘Look, Mickey, I’m with you again now-‘

‘Oh so _that’s_ what this is,’ Mickey interrupts again but instantly regrets doing so. Ian looks fucking hurt.

‘So nothing’s changed then,’ Ian bites out, fury coating his words, washing away the upset. ‘We’re just the way we were when we hadn’t seen each other for months, right?’

‘Well one thing fucking matches up; you’re still sucking off a geri-‘

‘Oh come the fuck on!’ Ian’s standing up now and Mickey’s seriously pissed off about their height differences. ‘You know that’s not what’s happening here!’

‘No, actually, I don't. I mean, before, the _entire time_ we were together you were out fucking someone else, so don’t put this on me!’ Mickey roars, finding the anger that had built up again and throwing it all in Ian’s face.

*

_Mickey’s been waiting three hours for Ian to get home when he finally does, reeking of weed, sweat and someone else’s cologne._

_‘Where the fuck you been?’ he asks, already knowing the answer._

_Ian lets out a long breath. ‘See, this is why I didn’t want to come home, I knew you’d be like this. No fun.’ He starts laughing and Mickey actually wants to slap him._

_‘You, uh, you get laid?’ He’s smiling bitterly and shaking his head. ‘I’m goin’ to bed. Just fuckin’ think about this next time you want me to come out to the fucking world. Or!’ He claps his hands together and lets out a slightly manic laugh. ‘Or! When you want me to hold your goddamn hand when we’re at one of your friends houses, right?’_

_‘Mickey, wait.’ Ian’s not laughing anymore and Mickey knows he’s sensed he’s fucked up._

_‘Good fucking night, Gallagher.’_

*

Ian’s breathing’s slowed down and there’s moisture in his eyes. He wipes a hand over his mouth and steps back, nearly tumbling back onto the couch. ‘We said we’d try this all again, Mickey. So what’s happened?’

‘I don’t fucking know. I fucked it up, I guess, is that what you’re gonna tell me? I wanted to fucking talk and this is where it gets me.’

‘It’s not your fault,’ Ian breathes out like it’s actually painful to admit that. Mickey chuckles without humour and turns away, picking up his cigarette packet off the coffee table. ‘It’s not. But… you shouldn’t accuse me of cheating on you.’

‘Perfectly valid though, right?’ Mickey says through a cigarette and a smirk.

Ian looks like he’s biting the inside of his cheek to keep from starting another argument. ‘Mickey, please.’

‘What, Ian? What?’ He yanks the smoke out of his own mouth and massages his closed eyes. He hears the floorboards creak and braces himself for Ian to touch him. He doesn’t, though, and Mickey’s left tense, always waiting.

‘We’ve been good, we _were_ good until…’

‘Until we started talkin’ about your sugar daddy? Yeah, uh, I guess that can fuck things up a bit.’

There’s silence between them, only broken by the noise of Mickey’s lighter, before Ian starts laughing, fucking _laughing_ until he actually has to lower himself onto the floor. Mickey’s completely outraged until Ian grabs onto his foot and then he has to laugh too. He’s so, so _pissed off_ , he’s so _incredibly annoyed_ but Ian’s just started up this ridiculous laughter and…

Jesus Christ, they’re not finished with the topic, though. Mickey’s going to make fucking sure it gets revisited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops... they'll be okay though... right...  
> What the fuck am I doing, I've made their relationship so unhealthy??


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comments on the last chapter... like... thank you so much because wow, I'm so happy to hear what your thoughts are about everything, and obviously feedback on what the hell I'm doing is so so appreciated, honestly, thank you!  
> Now, the only question is, should I do the last chapter as a happy-everything's-wrapped-up-wow-isn't-the-future-just-great epilogue or a super long chapter that just naturally finishes continuing shortly after the end of this chapter? Let me know :)

Mickey’s effectively dodged Ian for three days. The entire time, he’s been holed up in his freezing apartment, ignoring the knocking on the door that comes every so often. He’s almost out of cash, only has enough to pay off the last of the month’s rent before he’s completely broke. He thinks that when he left Ian, Ian thought they were on good terms, that they were okay again and that things had magically sorted themselves out.

On the fourth day, he breaks. He squeezes his eyes shut and then shoots up off the bed, throws on some clothes and charges out the door. It’s the first time in a long time he’s had purpose in his walk. It’s a good feeling to get back.

Now Mickey’s doing the knocking. Ian answers almost instantly and Mickey probably should be a little creeped out by that.

‘I…’ Ian trails off, mouth agape. Mickey rolls his eyes and storms past him, straight to the window. The wood squeals in protest as he jimmies it open.

‘We gotta settle some things,’ Mickey says determinedly, pulling out a cigarette and his lighter.

‘Ah…’ Ian shoves his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and leans against the door until it shuts, the sound echoing around the room. It’s only then that Mickey notices how the furniture’s been totally reorganised. He doesn’t bother to comment.

‘Yeah, _ah_. You wanna start? Your laughin’ fit the other day didn’t make me forget our fucking problems.’

Ian doesn’t talk for a while. He wiggles his nose around a sniff and then flicks his eyes up to the ceiling.

‘I’m a mess,’ Ian croaks.

‘Nah, you’re not… we just… we need to sort _our_ shit out. We need to bury some stuff, we need to talk. ‘N that’s never been my strong point,’ Mickey murmurs.

Ian lifts one shoulder and then drops it again, still leaning against the door. ‘I am. Don’t try to say I’m not, we both know it.’

‘Fuck, Ian, you’re not a mess. Sure, you got issues, we’ve all got fucking issues, but it ain’t hopeless. We can figure it out, right?’ The whole time Mickey’s been talking he’s been avoiding Ian’s gaze but when he’s finished, he looks up and watches Ian roll his bottom lip between his teeth.

‘What do you suggest?’

Mickey doesn’t even wait a second before he answers. He knows what he wants, and he’s either  going to get exactly what he came here for or he’s going to leave with nothing. He’s strangely okay with either outcome, just because he’s tired of feeling this tragic in the current situation. ‘No more money from Ned.’

‘But-‘

‘I’m fucking serious.’ Mickey puts out a hand, cutting Ian off completely with his gesture and his stern stare. ‘This is non-negotiable, Gallagher.’

Ian looks down and bites his lip again. He looks reluctant but finally nods. ‘Okay… How are we gonna pay for everything?’

‘We’re getting new jobs. I’m fucking sick of feeling sorry for myself, it’s pathetic.’

‘It’s not pathetic, Mick-‘

‘It is. Listen to me, Ian. I’m _telling_ you, you want this to work, we gotta sort this shit out.’

He feels in control, he feels assertive, even feels fucking _hopeful_.

‘Well okay then.’

Honestly, Mickey was expecting Ian to cling on more tightly to his life, but apparently he actually thinks Mickey’s worth it. Mickey’s definitely taking advantage of this fact for once.

‘I want you to cut that shit out where you go out and fuck other people. I put my neck on the line for you, I coulda gotten killed, but I still fucking came out to my dad for you, alright? Don’t take that lightly.’

‘I’m so, so sorry-‘

‘Nah, don’t say a fucking word if you don’t mean it. I swear to god, Ian, if you-‘ The fucking _waver’s_ back in his voice, he’s completely losing it.

‘I mean it. I promise,’ Ian says and there’s so much honesty in his eyes and voice that Mickey’s struggling to not just say fuck it and kiss Ian. He can’t. Not yet, anyway, he’s still got more to say and he might as well put it out there while he’s in the sharing mood.

‘I think I know why you… _cheated_ on me all the damn time,’ Mickey mutters. That word sounds so horrible in his mouth because he’s still not used to the idea of being exclusive with someone and getting hurt when that person’s not _just_ his. Ian looks to be in just as much pain as him and it’s obvious he knows he’s seriously messed stuff up.

‘Why?’ he whispers. His voice is reedy and Mickey wants to get back that guy who used to talk to him all bubbly and happy. He knows he wants everything back.

‘I think you thought that I didn’t care.’

Ian purses his lips and then moves to lean against the wall next to Mickey. He throws the finished smoke out of the window and then rubs his hands together to warm them up. ‘Accurate.’

‘I can’t… I can’t say all that fluffy shit to you all the time, okay? I can’t…’ Mickey trails off and puffs out a sigh, scratching the side of his nose and staring at the splinter ridden floorboards.

‘I know. It’s just nice to hear _sometimes_.’

‘Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry I can’t be that kinda guy, alright? Pisses me off, but I can’t do that.’

Ian nods and his expression looks clearer and more accepting. ‘I understand. I really want this to work again.’

‘I mean, I could like… I could try to fuckin’… hold hands sometimes,’ Mickey forces out and it’s pretty damn hard to suggest something as affectionate as that out loud but, well, it’s out there now.

‘And I’ll try to be less of an asshole,’ he says with a smirk. He’s pretty grateful that Ian doesn’t comment specifically on the handholding thing.

Mickey allows himself to grin back at him, feeling lighter than he’s ever felt. ‘Don’t try, man, make it happen.’

‘It’s in my genes.’

‘Too fucking right.’ He probably shouldn’t, but he takes out another cigarette, lights it, inhales and then hands it to Ian. Ian’s answering smile is soft and Mickey finally feels like he could be happy again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've saved them phew


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And to think this started out as a one shot... Jesus  
> I just wanted to say thank you to all of you, you really motivated me to get this finished (after being evil and persuading me to continue with this even with my track record of slow updates and unfinished fics haha). I really really have appreciated all of your feedback and have honestly enjoyed writing this fic a hell of a lot. I hope you like this chapter - I took in the advice in the comments on the last chapter and made this long with an epilogue included in it :)

Mickey’s in Ian’s bedroom when Ned finally comes over. Ian asked him to be here over an hour ago and Mickey had had to stay put in the other room just because he thinks if he sees the asshole again he’ll rip his lungs out. Mickey still presses his ear to the door, though; there’s no fucking way he’s missing this conversation. Plus, it’s kind of Ian’s last test. Mickey’s praying to fucking god that he passes.

‘Ian! I’m thrilled to see you.’ _Fucking thrilled_. Mickey can just about pick up the sound of Ned trying to kiss Ian, oh fuck no. He’s about to bust through the door when he hears Ian stumbling backwards and letting out a sound in protest.

‘No, that’s not- I didn’t ask you over for anything like that.’

Mickey shivers because honestly, the thought of Ian and Ned just really _really_ doesn’t sit right with him.

Ned’s voice is confused when he replies. ‘Well… why did you want to see me? Is there a problem with the apartment that I need to get sorted?’

‘No- well… yes, actually… I, uh… I don’t need it anymore.’

The front door shuts and Mickey’s only just realised that Ian hadn’t let the other man in until that point.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that I don’t need the apartment, it’s not that hard to understand.’

Mickey smirks at Ian’s tone and wiggles against the door a little, because being pressed against the wood of the door for too long is fucking uncomfortable. His knees are hurting like a bitch, too; he’s out of practice.

‘Hm. This is an interesting turn of events…’ Oh god, Mickey wants to punch him.

‘Yeah, well, I’m moving, so.’

There’s a long pause and all Mickey can hear is Ned shuffling about on his feet, like he’s genuinely confused at Ian’s rejection. ‘I’ll need you to sign some things.’ He says it like he thinks that’ll change Ian’s mind.

‘Fine.’

‘Any idea where you’re moving to?’

‘Dunno yet, we’ll work it out.’

‘Ah,’ Ned replies and there’s a sly grin in his voice. ‘The boy who broke your heart back for more, huh?’

Mickey squeezes his eyes shut so hard he’s almost shocked he’s not blind when he opens them again. He’s pissed off because one, technically Ian broke _his_ fucking pathetic heart, and two because the guy’s tone just rubs him up the wrong way. _Constantly_.

‘We’ll work it out,’ Ian repeats, voice stony.

‘Hm…’ Ned pauses and Mickey can hear him walk further into the apartment, and he thinks he can detect him picking up random objects on his way around like he fucking owns the- oh.

Ian finally breaks the silence with a long-suffering sigh. ‘Do you want some tea? Or something?’

‘That’d be great.’

Mickey grinds his teeth together, feeling irritated with Ian for dragging everything out more than it needs to be. He’s about to step away from the door to lie on the bed and away from whatever the hell’s now happening in the other room but then Ian speaks.

‘Oh, shit, I think I threw out all the tea bags.’ Mickey smirks again, frustration ebbing away a little. ‘Actually, you know what, sorry, Ned, I’m pretty swamped right now. You think you could try and get those papers sorted?’

‘No, it’s no bother… I’ll… I’ll have them ready for you soon.’ Oh man, he sounds so put out, actually being forced out of his own apartment.

Mickey debates whether he should stroll out of the bedroom just to really shove it in the old bastard’s face how much Ian’s moved on, but decides against it. He doesn’t want to piss Ian off and he’d agreed to stay hidden for this part.

After an awkward goodbye, Ned’s gone, fucking finally out of Ian’s life, and he’d done that _for Mickey_. He doesn’t particularly want to bring up what a monu-fucking-mental thing this is for him, so he opts to just re-enter the room without making it any big thing.

‘We ought’a sort your shit out.’

‘Mmm,’ Ian agrees, shifting his eyes around the room and the little amount of belongings he’s actually attached to.

Mickey picks up on Ian’s reluctance and shrugs. ‘We could do that tomorrow.’

Ian aims a small smile at him and nods. ‘Yeah. What are we gonna do ‘til then, though?’

There’s a clear proposition hidden in there, but, honestly, Mickey doesn’t think he can go through with it right now. They’ve fucked since they got back in contact again, obviously, but he doesn’t feel like they’re quite ready. It’s weird because it used to be _just_ about sex for Mickey. He’s changed. He really fucking has.

‘Go back to mine?’ The way Mickey’s used his tone tells Ian that, yeah, there’s not gonna be any sex. He’s not sure, but he might have made it a little uncomfortable between them momentarily as they’re walking up the flight of stairs to Mickey apartment – elevator’s still fucking broken.

‘Fuck, it’s cold in here,’ Ian hisses, shakily rubbing his hands up and down his arms as he opens the door. Mickey rolls his eyes and starts flicking on the lights as he moves through his apartment.

‘Stop being such a damn drama queen. It’s cold ‘cause I ain’t been home for a while... or paid the bills.’

Ian smiles then, following Mickey into the kitchen where he starts rifling through the fridge.

‘What’s up?’ Ian asks as he peers over Mickey’s shoulder.

‘Everything’s fuckin’ gross in here. Shit, how long’s this been here?’ Mickey grumbles, picking up a packet of cheese that he was seriously sure hadn’t started out blue. Ian actually retches and covers his mouth while Mickey grins at the reaction. ‘You’re such a pussy.’

‘Shut up, you’re right, that _is_ gross.’ Ian coughs and makes his way back out into the living room where he wearily slumps onto the sofa, listening to the sound of Mickey throwing various food items into the already overflowing garbage can.

Mickey knows he’s only doing this because he’s avoiding talking to Ian. He doesn’t know why, though. Ian ditched Ned for him; Ian wants a new start… _with him_.

As soon as he’s done clearing out the fridge – leaving him with scarcely anything edible – he moves over to his window and cracks it open, lighting up a cigarette. Ian joins him and lights up his own.

Although they’re silent, there’s that familiarity between them because they’ve done this so many times before where it’s been okay, they’ve been happy. Maybe this time can be even better for them. Mickey thinks it’s just like magic how the air between them loses that weight and they can breathe easy again.

*

It’s been a couple of months now, and they’re just starting to fill up moving boxes. Mickey doesn’t want to jinx it, but he thinks things are going pretty well between him and Ian. Maybe a little awkward at times, but, honestly, with the shit they’ve done to each other, that was to be expected. And it’s not been like they just slipped back into how it was before, they’ve had to make a new routine for themselves, figure each other out all over again.

Clearly, Mickey hasn’t figured Ian out enough because when Ian brings up maybe buying a pet to go with their new home, it comes as a surprise to him.

‘We’re getting a new start with this new house, right?’ Ian starts off with. They’re sprawled out on Mickey’s couch, mindlessly watching TV.

Mickey frowns with suspicion, twisting his neck to look up at Ian. Yeah, so what, he had his head in his fucking lap, it was fucking comfy. ‘…Uh, yes?’

‘I think we should welcome another new addition.’

‘The fuck you gettin’ at?!’ Mickey sits up abruptly because for _a goddamn split second_ he thinks Ian’s suggesting they adopt. No fucking way in hell is that topic being discussed again.

Ian raises his hands in a calming manner but it does little to soothe Mickey; he’s so spooked his heart’s hammering in his chest. ‘I meant like a dog.’

And Mickey’s back to laying in Ian’s lap again, like that mini panic attack didn’t just happen. He lets out a yawn and watches the TV, unfocused. The heating bill’s still not been dealt with after all these months, but Mickey’s not paying for it when he knows he’ll be out of the apartment in a matter of weeks. Besides, Ian and Mickey have been able to find heat sources in each other.

‘Too much hassle,’ Mickey says, immediately shutting him down. ‘What the fuck’ll it do while we’re both out all day?’

Ian shifts and Mickey assumes he’s pursing his lips as he thinks of something else, obviously wanting to push for Mickey to agree. ‘What about a… fish?’

‘Pointless.’

‘Fuck, a _rhino_.’

‘Like that’s less responsibility than a dog. Jesus, Ian.’

Ian lets out a laugh. ‘That’s all you’re gonna say about me suggesting we get a rhino?’

Mickey shrugs, rucking up the fabric of Ian’s sweats beneath his shoulder in the process. After a little while of silence, Mickey assumes Ian’s dropped the subject. Alas…

‘How about a cat?’

Mickey breathes out through his nose and sits up again, levelling Ian with a stare. Ian seems to sense the other man’s about to start up a speech and clicks the TV to mute.

‘Ian, if you think a fucking _cat’s_ gonna patch up all this shit between us, then-‘

‘Oh my god, Mick, I just thought…’ Ian trails off and lifts his shoulders helplessly. ‘We’re jumping right into this all again. We might as well just do whatever we want, change things…’

Mickey’s not convinced. Now he’s kinda worried about how Ian views them and their issues. He’s worked fucking hard to get them to this content place they’re at right now. ‘Ian are you happy?’

Ian looks a little affronted by this. ‘What the fuck does that mean?’

‘ _Ian_.’ Mickey commands his whole attention with his stare. ‘Are you _happy_?’

It’s not long before Ian’s expression softens and he drops his gaze to a loose thread on the blanket Mickey’s got draped over them. ‘Of course I am. I’m with you again.’

‘It was your choice to leave last time.’

Ian lets out a huge sigh and grits his teeth, looking off to the side, studying the imperfections on the peeling wallpaper. ‘Mick, I don’t know how many times I’m gonna have to say that I was wrong to do that before you fucking _get it_.’ He doesn’t sound angry, just weary, so damn tired. Mickey’s tired too, he wants to let it go but he _can’t_. Not yet, at least. He can’t quite remember how long it took the last time around before Ian started fucking other dudes but he needs to wait it out before he can even fully trust him. He feels shitty about it, but… it’s how he feels.

‘Mickey,’ Ian murmurs, bringing his hand up to Mickey’s face. It’s nice, it’s so damn nice, but it makes Mickey feel a little weird, too. ‘I’m not going to leave you again.’

‘Don’t promise shit you don’t mean.’

‘Did you see how I was after I left you? _I_ don’t want to go through that shit again, just going through the motions, feeling sad as fuck. I’m guessing you don’t either.’

Mickey breathes out a tiny laugh through his nose and shuffles closer to Ian. ‘What makes you think you had that kinda effect on me?’

‘Shut the fuck up,’ Ian chuckles, placing a not exactly unwelcome kiss on Mickey’s hair.

*

Fuck, he’s missed getting drunk with Ian. Not the kind of drunk where he shows up on the other man’s doorstep asking for a fuck, but the kind where they can just talk to each other and Mickey’s walls are down so he feels like he can actually share more.

They’re not even doing anything special, just sat around Mickey’s apartment the night before they’re set to leave, throwing back vodka and Jack. Getting drunk in the right company to Mickey - although he probably wouldn’t admit it out loud, normally opting to just get wasted and not really care - is pretty fucking perfect. Ian’s exactly the person he wants to be around and he’s slowly coming to appreciate it all again.

Ian’s laughing at Mickey’s face, which should probably offend him, but he finds himself laughing along with his fucking dick of a boyfriend anyway. _Shit, they’re boyfriends_.

‘Mick, you should… _Ha_ , you should see your face, I mean, really,’ Ian chuckles, waving a finger in front of said face. There’s this dopey grin he’s wearing that instantly chases away any doubts that might have resurfaced with the admission that, yep, they’re together again now, they really are. They’re hoping to move on with their lives.

He’s still working on getting Mandy back, but fixing things with her _had_ to come after he’s figured out what he has with Ian. He’s been far too emotionally stunted his entire life to even consider patching up two different (both fucking important) relationships at the same time. How he’s working on this thing with Ian is going steadily well so far and he doesn’t want to fuck it up.

‘What’s wrong with my face?’

Ian’s smirk becomes warm then and he shuffles forward to place a long kiss on Mickey’s lips. ‘Nothing. Your face is like my favourite thing ever.’

Mickey swats him away and reaches over to the coffee table for his tumbler of whiskey. ‘Nobody likes my face.’

Ian rolls his eyes then and steals his drink off him. ‘Mickey, I was fucking you for, what, three? Three con _secutive_ years? Pro’bly wouldn’t have happened if I hated your face.’

‘Shallow as fuck,’ Mickey scoffs, taking his drink back and tipping his head back to swallow the rest of it. Ian watches him do it with this hazy look, so Mickey knows he’s more than buzzed, but it makes him feel all fucking warm and shit. ‘What?’

‘I’m so happy you’re back… in my life.’

 _Oh Jesus_ he’s all choked up. It’s fucking… ergh. ‘Yeah, well, I ain’t stayin’ if you plan on repeatin’ any of the shit you did before, alright?’

Ian looks hurt for a split second before composing himself. ‘What, even the _good_ shit? The _sexy_ shit?’

‘Fuck, that sounds gross, stop that,’ Mickey laughs, shoving Ian’s side, pleased that his smile’s back.

Ian starts looking more reserved then. ‘What’s wrong really, Mickey?’

 _Ha, nope_. ‘Nothin’.’

‘You need to talk about anything, I’m here,’ Ian says, still sounding as drunk as before, but even more sincere. Alcohol does wonderful things to someone’s emotions, clearly.

And then everything’s coming out and it _fucking irritates him_ because although he really does love being drunk with Ian, he equally fucking hates the fact that he’s likely to spill his guts on demand. ‘Huh, you know what I said ‘bout Mandy? A while back? ‘N I tried to get in contact with her…’

Ian nods and starts to bite his nails. ‘I remember.’

Mickey looks up at Ian and exhales deeply, shifting to get more comfortable even though he knows it’s not the way he’s sitting that’s making him feel off. ‘I fuckin’ miss her still.’

‘Oh, Mick. I’ll call her, I’ll talk to her, I’ll-‘

‘Nah, Ian, don’t.’ Mickey breathes out a slightly broken laugh and rests his head against Ian’s shoulder. Instantly, Ian wraps his arm around Mickey and leans his head on top of Mickey’s. It feels really fucking domestic and close and _loving_.

‘No, Mickey, I will.’ Ian sounds so damn adamant. He starts carding his hand through Mickey’s hair in that way he’s always done and Mickey can’t tell if it’s making him sad or ridiculously happy. So much for waiting to sort out Ian before Mandy.

To Mickey’s shock, Ian does actually follow through on his drunken promise once his hangover’s passed the next day.

‘You sure about this, man?’

Ian nods eagerly as he picks up his cell and starts scrolling through his contacts. ‘Of course I am. ‘Sides, it was nice when it was us three, right?’

The corners of Mickey’s mouth tug up and he gingerly reaches over to Ian’s fingers and wraps two of his own around them. ‘Thanks.’

Ian grins, clearly happy with the gesture, and keeps hold of Mickey’s hand as he brings his phone up to his ear. To say Mickey’s nervous as fuck would be an understatement. ‘Mandy? It’s Ian.’

Mickey can just about hear Mandy’s sarcastic reply on the other end of the phone ‘ _oh, yeah, ‘cause caller ID didn’t tell me that or anything_ ’ before he tunes out, much preferring Ian to fill him in on the conversation afterwards. He thinks he can deal with it better that way because he’s got a funny feeling that maybe this call won’t go so well and they’ll be left right back where they started.

He refocuses when he hears Ian’s phone clatter back on the counter as he puts it down. Mickey takes a look at his expression and is fucking relieved to see he’s grinning.

‘So?’

‘ _So_ , Mandy told me you were a complete asshole when she came to see you.’

Mickey scratches the side of his nose and purses his lips. ‘Yeah, well she only came over when I asked her to. Her fucking fault really.’

Ian lets out a long sigh. ‘Totally her fault, right?’

He looks up at Ian, annoyed. ‘Ay, you were smiling, so get to the good part.’

‘I invited her over to _our_ new house, explained what’s happened… She’s actually pissed off at me for getting back with you.’

‘Of course she fucking would be. You two work together to make my fuckin’ life hell.’

Ian rolls his eyes and retakes Mickey’s hand. ‘The situation’s fucked, exactly like you said. So we’re gonna figure it out.’

Mickey presses his lips together and stares at Ian apprehensively. Yeah, it’s weird having yourself quoted back at you.

‘Oh _shit_ , we gotta go,’ Ian mutters, glancing at his watch. ‘Everything’s ready to put in the van right?’

‘Where the fuck did you get a van?’ Mickey asks suspiciously, already on some level anticipating Ian’s reply.

‘Last favour from Ned.’ Mickey grinds his teeth together and lifts his eyebrows incredulously. ‘It’s not like that, Mick. He offered and it would really help us. We can’t exactly carry the boxes on foot halfway across town.’

‘He gonna be there?’

‘Nah, he’s sending his new _boy toy_.’ Mickey snorts and shakes his head. ‘Seriously, that’s what he called him. I’m completely done with that prick.’

Mickey decides that moving out of his damn shitty apartment is more important than being hung up on the possible implications of Ned being involved in the process, and so grabs his keys and a box and makes his way out of the apartment block, Ian in tow.

‘I’ve been waiting out here for _twenty minutes_ , assholes.’

Mickey raises an eyebrow at the guy’s insanely camp sounding voice and nearly laughs in his pissed off face. Well, he would have done this had the guy not looked pretty fucking similar to Ian.

‘There a store where you can buy ginger twinks or somethin’?’ Mickey asks as he heaves a box onto the truck bed. Both Ian and who he’s now gonna label ‘Ian’s twin’ glare at him. He just shrugs and makes his way back into his apartment.

It doesn’t take them too long to shift the stuff considering most of Mickey’s shit is now also Ian’s shit and… Mickey’s shit isn’t much, really. Plus, he’s leaving all of the big appliances there. He doesn’t really want to think too much about how big of a gamble this all is, this trying again, moving in together pretty much right off the bat and sharing furniture. He figures he’ll have to wait and see.

*

It’s quite obvious that this new house, now that the previous owners have removed all of their shit, is a fuck load smaller than the first one they’d bought together. But, hey, at least it’s a house, right?

‘I kinda like it.’

‘Yeah, it’s alright. Just how the _fuck_ are we gonna afford it?’ Mickey asks, barely cloaking the panic in his voice. Sure, they’d been able to put down a deposit, but there was so much other shit they needed to pay off and considering Mickey’d not been able to pay his bills for a long fucking while back at his one bedroom flat, he’s not feeling too optimistic about being able to stay off the streets.

‘We’ll be fine, Mick, you’ll see. And you’ve got another job interview tomorrow, haven't you?’

Mickey nods slowly but inside he’s screaming. How the fuck is a job at a pizza parlour – that he may not even fucking _get_ – supposed to support them?

‘And I’m looking into maybe working in a club. The tips are-‘

‘You’re not working in a club, Ian. Fuck.’

Ian’s scratching the side of his head, looking a little lost for what to say. Mickey rolls his eyes and bends down to rip the tape off one of the boxes they’d left in the hallway. Ian sighs at Mickey’s dismissal and then just decides to join him, starting on a different container.

‘I get you wanna pitch in, and I told you we were both gonna get jobs but that kinda thing ain’t what I meant,’ Mickey finally mutters, barely audibly.

‘Okay. I’ll find something else, then.’

It’s so insanely easy that Mickey’s shocked. Normally Ian would’ve at least _tried_ to argue his point of why being a stripper could bring in substantial cash.

‘What kinda thing would you wanna do?’

Ian huffs out a little laugh and begins unwrapping the bubble wrapped plates. ‘That’s a whole other story. I _wanna_ be a movie star, I _want_ to be a professional explorer, that kind of shit.’

Mickey smirks. ‘You wanna be Dora the fucking Explorer? Wow. Maybe should’a told me about that before I got so invested in this shit.’

Ian chuckles again and picks up the stack of plates to take into the tiny kitchen. ‘I’ll probably see if I can wait tables at a restaurant or something. If I get good enough pay I’ll be able to support you and our cat.’

His eyebrows hit his hairline upon hearing this. ‘You were serious about this pet thing? Fuck, _why_?’

‘It would be nice, right?’

‘Psh, yeah, okay.’

*

It doesn’t take long for Mickey to lock down his temporary job as a night pizza delivery man and a slightly better day job in an office. It was nothing special, and his position there was pretty unstable with his boss being able to throw him out any minute because he was just being tried out. But he finds the mundane tasks of copying things, taking the occasional call and running to get coffee every now and then easy – he’s always been good at being nothing extraordinary.

Ian follows not too far behind, picking up shifts at a local restaurant, just as he’d been aiming for. Anyway, it’s enough to keep them scraping by and Mickey feels fucking good for once. Feels like this could really mean something and he’s starting to really enjoy having Ian there when he comes back from work, spending his free time with him. It’s something he never thought he’d be able to do again, where something close to trust is forming again.

‘You got the smokes?’ Mickey asks Ian as he enters the kitchen, hair still wet from his shower.

‘Oh, yep.’ He rummages around in his jeans pocket, and, seriously, how difficult is it to find a packet of cigarettes in a pocket that small? He hands them over to Mickey and then opens the fridge to present the beers he’d bought earlier; Mandy’s favourite brand.

‘Cool, thanks,’ Mickey says, chewing on the inside of his cheek and tossing the pack of cigarettes from hand to hand nervously.

‘Mickey, it’ll be fine. When I talked to her, she wanted to try to fix things again.’

‘Yeah, but you weren’t there. It was fucking awkward and cold as hell… I dunno if anything’ll be right again, man.’

Ian presses his lips together anxiously, but still shrugs in a nonchalant way, confusing Mickey as to how the other man feels about all this. ‘Well she’ll at least appreciate the presents, huh?’

Mickey snickers and looks down. ‘Yeah, ‘cause she’d have to be drunk to even look at me again.’

‘Shit, Mickey, I didn’t wanna have to say this but it was kinda mine and her fault.’

Jesus, he’d never thought he’d hear Ian say that but holy shit is it true. Ian smiles and rubs Mickey’s upper arm.

‘She’ll be here any minute, okay. It’ll be fine, trust me.’

‘Whatever,’ Mickey grumbles, even though he feels at least marginally better about the whole thing.

All too soon, there’s a knock at the door. Ian’s the one to go answer it, but Mickey decides to sort of hover behind him. Might as well get it over with, right?

‘Ian,’ Mandy greets, instantly wrapping her arms around him as if they’d never been apart. It makes Mickey feel weird because maybe they _hadn’t_ been apart that long, really, and they’ve been steadily seeing each other. Well it would make sense, seeing as how they chose their friendship over Mickey. He’s gotta stop fucking thinking about that.

‘Mick,’ Mandy murmurs after she’s released Ian. ‘It’s good to see you…’

‘Yeah, you too… I got you some smokes.’ Mickey feebly offers the pack to her which she gladly accepts.

‘Oh thank god, I was running low.’ Her smile’s small but it’s there and it seems genuine. So Mickey returns it and a little bit of that ice in his chest thaws away.

‘You wanna go sit down or somethin’?’ he asks, gesturing to the other room. Mandy nods as she pockets her cigarettes and the look on Ian’s face tells him he’s pleased it’s going well so far.

‘Weird as fuck seeing you guys in the same room again,’ Mandy comments as she takes a seat between Ian and Mickey on the sofa. He scratches the back of his neck because it was even weirder for him. His boyfriend and his sister actually in his life again… Pretty fucking surreal taking into account how they’d left things before.

‘I know what you mean…’ Ian says quietly. But the way he smiles at Mandy tells Mickey he’s talked to her a lot more recently. His suspicions are soon confirmed when Ian gets back up off the couch after literally just sitting down. ‘So, I’ll get us some beers and Mandy, you tell Mickey what we’re doing today.’ Jesus, he looks so fucking smug that he’s set whatever he has up.

Mandy grins and slowly turns to face her brother as Ian leaves the room. ‘Look, Mickey… I’m not gonna ask you to apologise.’

‘Good, ‘cause I fucking won’t.’

Mandy nods with pursed lips and then, to Mickey’s (kind of) horror, she places her hand on his forearm. ‘It fucking sucks not having my big brother around, ya know? Definitely sucks having to get high with Iggy.’

‘You still talk to that fuck head?’ Mickey chuckles, picking at where his jeans have frayed.

She gives him a lopsided smile and settles further back into the couch. ‘Yeah, I guess. I’m the only one who can bust his ass out of jail when he gets thrown in there.’

‘Shit.’

There’s a brief pause before Mandy seems to realise what she was actually supposed to do. But Mickey’s glad she said what she did because the air feels a little clearer – they’re still a long way off pure, though.

‘Hey, guess what we’re doing today?’

Mickey doesn’t like the look of her expression. ‘I ain’t guessing, and anyway didn’t Ian tell you to tell me?’

Mandy rolls her eyes and bounces in her seat a little. ‘Whatever. We’re going to pick out your animal!’

‘My _animal_ , what the fuck?’ He knew he didn’t like that look.

‘Yeah, your cat. We’re going to the adoption place or whatever and it’s going to be adorable and amazing.’

‘Christ, I can’t believe he roped you into this.’

Mandy shrugs and nudges him and there’s something so familiar about how they’re acting around each other it’s freaking him out and making him feel pretty damn happy in equal measures. ‘It’ll be fun. Hey, maybe if we get wasted before going to pick it, we’ll choose one of those really fucked up nightmare cases-‘

‘Ian, forget the beers!’ Mickey quickly calls out and shoves his sister away from him playfully. Shit, things feel _too_ good now, and it’s like something’s going to completely fuck it up as usual.

They don’t hang around for too long after that and then they’re making their way out the door and into town. Mickey’s still feeling a little anxious that it’s just the three of them again, just like it used to be. But Ian seems intent on keeping them talking, on keeping them happy.

His nerves are suitably jacked by the time they reach the centre and the wailing cats really aren’t fucking helping. Ian seems in his element, though, easily striding up to the clerk and asking about the cats. Mickey feels so fucking out of place. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t even want this damn thing in his house, fucking up his and Ian’s newly established sex life and food money.

‘Okay, you ready, Mick?’ Mandy asks, tapping him on the elbow to gain his attention.

‘Uh, yeah, I guess.’

He slowly follows behind Ian and Mandy, barely even glancing at the cats as he passes them, preferring to watch how Ian and Mandy animatedly discuss the positives of cat ownership. Honestly, Mickey can’t believe he’s chosen to tag along with their lives for the rest of his own he’s so fucking out of place.

He lets out a long sigh, wiggling his fingers, itching for a cigarette. The back of his neck prickles and shit, that’s never a good feeling, so he turns around and instantly makes eye contact with the fattest fucking cat he’s ever seen.

‘Yo, Ian,’ he calls, a slow grin spreading across his face. Ian makes his way to his side and frowns.

‘What?’

‘That one. We’re getting that one.’  There’s laughter in his voice but he’s _so serious_. He needs some happiness in his life and he’s thinking that looking at this huge fucking cat every day will bring it. Well, that, and the fact that he knows Ian’s going to be sticking around indefinitely.

‘…Uh… That fat black and brown one? Lying on its back? …Is it dead?’

Mandy shoves Ian and laughs. ‘Fucking yes, Mickey, she’s perfect.’

‘Okay, yeah,’ Ian automatically agrees. Mickey glimpses his expression and can tell he loves it as much as Mickey – love is a strong word, actually, it just makes him laugh.

‘What’re you gonna call her?’ Mandy asks, darting her eyes from Ian to Mickey.

‘We’ll call her Mandy, yeah?’ Mickey puts forward cautiously after a short pause; he’d known instantly but wanted to wait a second so as to not come across as too eager. It takes a lot of fucking courage for him to even contribute to Ian and Mandy’s conversations, so to suggest such an obviously affectionate thing is even harder.

Ian grins happily at Mickey and then at Mandy’s pleasantly shocked face. Mickey can tell they’re well on their way to patching things up for good, even with their shit show of a past.

‘Suits her.’

*

The first time Mickey kisses Ian in public, it’s pretty fucking anti-climactic. They’re at the Alibi with Mandy and her new boyfriend… David…? No, that’s not it. Mickey doesn’t really care; this new dude probably won’t stick around long knowing how Mandy’s recent hook-ups have been going.

Mickey feels pleasantly buzzed which is probably why he’s leaning into Ian so much. Mandy looks over at him every so often with barely concealed glee. He likes that look on his sister. He’s missed it. Again, this is also probably fueling his need to use Ian as a fucking headrest.

‘Mick,’ Ian mumbles into his hair, trying to dislodge him. ‘Mick, I gotta take a piss, I’ll be back in a sec.’

He grumbles under his breath and only holds onto Ian more tightly which makes him chuckle. ‘Nah. Don’t go.’

Ian gulps and strokes the side of Mickey’s face. Well, shit, even if they hadn’t kissed it was obvious what they were to each other. ‘Mickey, do you seriously want me to piss myself?’ _So romantic_.

Reluctantly, Mickey loosens his grip and Ian gets up. ‘Ay, hold up a sec.’

‘ _What_?’ Ian laughs, turning back around to look at Mickey. His insides are twisting mildly but for once he doesn’t give a shit. He can hear Mandy gasp as he hooks his hand around Ian’s neck and drags him in for a kiss. It’s not like they make out or anything, but if they had the effect would’ve been just about the same.

Ian’s lips are just as warm as ever, and he kisses back just as he does at home. _So what’s the fucking difference, Mickey_? He can do this. He honestly can. It’s a fucking big step, though, but he can tell it’s made Ian insanely happy. And yeah, Mandy’s clapping a little, whatever.

Ian pulls away after a little while, his hand still cupping Mickey’s jaw. And he says the words that would probably make anyone swoon, especially Mickey. ‘Mick, I still gotta take a piss, wait here.’

There’s a little bit of embarrassment felt when Ian leaves, because of the sheer wattage of Mandy’s grin and the disinterest of her boyfriend.

Not long after Ian returns to the table, they decide to call it a night, and Mickey is so fucking grateful because he thinks Mandy’d talk Ian’s ear off about how much of an achievement Mickey kissing him in public is. He needed a cigarette or ten on the way home.

As soon as they get in, they’re ambushed by their fucking ginormous cat. Ian looks ecstatic by this, but Mickey’s really not feeling the love. The thing pisses him the fuck off, always wanting attention, like a smaller, less ginger Ian.

‘She’s so fucking weird, how can you actually like it?’ Mickey slurs, pointing at how the cat’s just lying there on her back staring up at them as Ian lovingly coos at her. ‘You’re fucking weird, too.’

Ian looks up at Mickey and then grabs his outstretched finger and yanks it down until Mickey’s involuntarily tickling the cat’s stomach. Sure, he'd picked it, but that was to _look_ at it and laugh, not coddle it.

‘Thought that was a fuckin’ _dog_ thing?’

Ian grins and pulls Mickey closer to him. ‘She’s so cute though, look at her.’

Mickey rolls his eyes and subtly shifts ever closer to Ian. ‘Yeah, whatever.’

‘Mandy,’ Ian fusses, wiggling his finger under her chin. The cat’s purr sounds like a fucking helicopter it’s that loud.

‘Why the fuck did I agree to this again?’ Mickey grumbles, although he still reaches out to stroke her. Fuck off, she’s fucking soft as hell.

‘Because you love m… your sister,’ Ian replies, his smile becoming slightly more forced. Mickey can’t help but feel disappointed by Ian’s answer, but he grins and bears it as well, focusing on petting the cat with the other man instead of the upset.

*

_Ian looks so fucking mad, like he’s going to crush the lit cigarette he’s holding. ‘So you’re saying I can’t go out anymore?’_

_‘Nah, that’s not what I said you fucking idiot,’ Mickey groans. Ian’s like this a lot now. And when they argue, they never seem to come to solutions, simply ignoring the fact that they had a bust up and moving on to other things. It’s tiring on Mickey’s brain and like fuck is it warming him up any to the idea of going out with Ian's friends and flaunting their relationship._

_‘Seemed like it was heavily implied,’ Ian mutters, taking one last drag of his cigarette before throwing it out of the open window, shivering as he closes it. ‘Well I’m going out anyway, if you’re not happy with it, I’ll go sleep somewhere else.’_

_It fucking hurts. Every time Ian brings that kind of shit up there’s this sharp pain in Mickey’s chest that says he’s not wanted, that says Ian can just throw him away without even thinking about it – he needs Ian more than Ian needs him._

_‘I don’t want that. For fuck’s sake, you really gonna go off again?’_

_Ian shrugs in this fucking irritating way which sends a jolt of anger through Mickey. ‘I got invited out. My friends actually enjoy my company. They’d probably do a lot more for me than you.’_

_Holy shit that’s it. ‘Fuck off. I can’t even fucking deal with you right now.’_

_Again with the shrug. His knuckles crack as he clenches his fists and he’s surprised his teeth haven’t shattered from how hard he’s clamped his jaw shut. Ian grabs his coat and leaves out the door, lighting another cigarette despite the fact he’s still inside the house._

_Come morning, Ian’s wrapped around Mickey like he’s never going to let go. And so the cycle continues._

*

‘You talked to your family recently?’ Mickey asks with a wrinkled brow. He’d honestly completely forgotten about their existence. He couldn’t be blamed for that, though. It wasn’t like Ian’d mentioned them that much, maybe a bitter comment about Lip every now or then, and the occasional passing remark about Fiona. But it’s always filled with longing, like he misses her.

The question seems to shock Ian who’d previously been slicing garlic bread. ‘Uh, why?’

Mickey shrugs and he doesn’t feel too good about how panicked Ian suddenly looks. Well they'd said no secrets, so he’s gonna get him to fucking talk about it. ‘Just wanted to know. Haven’t heard you talk about them much. And you’re always hanging around here when you’re not at work.’

‘Do you realise how paranoid you sound?’ Ian chuckles nervously.

Mickey’s light expression drops into a frown. ‘Come the fuck off it, I’m not paranoid.’

Ian rolls his eyes and goes to grab a second plate from the cupboard. ‘Whatever.’

‘Ian.’ Mickey waits for him to respond and huffs out a heavy sigh when he doesn’t. ‘ _Ian_.’

‘What, Mickey?!’ Ian growls, almost cracking the plate as he puts it down on the counter.

‘How are your family?’ He stays calm because he knows how worked up Ian can get sometimes, but shit does he want to ask what the fuck’s wrong with him asking.

‘I don’t know, alright?’

Mickey presses his lips together and leans against the counter next to Ian. He looks clearly distressed like maybe Mickey brought up something he hasn’t wanted to deal with. ‘You not talked to them ‘cause you’ve been focusing on stuff with me too much?’

‘Fuck,’ Ian breathes.

‘Ian, you need to call-‘

‘No I don’t.’ He doesn’t want to hear it, for some reason unknown to Mickey. So he’s got to raise his voice and, fucking hell, again he’s putting down his importance because he can’t fucking help it seeping out sometimes. But he'd thought he’d gotten over it.

‘ _Ian_ , why the fuck would you want to spend time with me instead of sorting shit out with your family?!‘

‘Mickey, I fucking _love_ you so shut the fuck up!’

Ian hasn’t said it out loud since they got back together again and neither’s Mickey. It’s been the last barrier in their relationship that they’d been too afraid to break, still pretty cautious about their feelings towards one another. To Mickey, it feels a bit like a weight’s been lifted off his chest, he feels fucking _good_.

Mickey doesn’t say it back in so many words, but breaks the pregnant silence by surging forward and kissing Ian because he’s still not quite got the hang of the whole dealing with feelings thing. He thinks he could spend his life with this fucking asshole. It’s scary, but… not as scary as it would have been the first time around.

 

**_One year later_ **

Shit, his coffee’s cold. How long had he been preoccupied?

He quickly straightens his tie and checks to make sure his buttons are done up properly. He always feels uncomfortable as hell in his office get-up, but the pay’s steady and keeping him, Ian, and their cat (who seems to never _not_ be hungry) afloat.

Make up sex after fights is quite the perk in some ways, but not when it makes him late. This morning he’d made up his coffee, ignoring Ian, when his boyfriend had – somehow _apologetically_ –jumped him.

‘Shit,’ Mickey breathes after catching the time on the kitchen clock, pouring his drink down the sink and then placing the mug on the counter. There’s this weird anxiety building up in him that comes with being scared of being late for work. He’d never have thought he’d feel that kinda thing; before he’d resigned himself to getting up whenever and then _maybe_ making it into work, or being so religiously early simply because he had nothing else to take up his time.

‘Wait, Mick!’ Ian calls out groggily from where he’s still sprawled out across their bed. Mickey sighs and trudges back to the bedroom doorway.

‘Jesus, what, Ian? You already sucked me off and made me late as hell, the fuck are you gonna do now? Jane’ll have my ass.’

Ian chuckles at Mickey’s wording but doesn’t make a wisecrack. Mickey’s thankful for this because he’s _so fucking late_. ‘I have a surprise for you later so, you know, make sure you come home.’

Mickey frowns deeply in confusion and strides over to the bed, pressing a hard kiss to Ian’s forehead. He holds his jaw then and Ian leans into his touch. ‘’Course I’m comin’ home, when the fuck don’t I? See you later, man.’

And with that, Mickey grabs his stuff and leaves the house, able to forget about Ian’s surprise due to the stress of him being _so unbelievably fucking late_.

*

‘Mickey!’

‘Oh, Christ,’ Mickey wheezes, jumping back from the front door. It’s not a nice thing to open your front door and immediately be assaulted by your tall as fuck ginger boyfriend’s beaming face… Okay, It’s kind of nice, just a bit surprising.

‘Hey,’ Ian says, all casual like he didn’t just almost give Mickey a heart attack, dropping Mandy onto the floor. Shit, Mickey hadn’t even realised he’d been holding her. ‘You ready for your surprise?’

‘My what?’ Mickey narrows his eyes at Ian’s exasperated face before it clicks. ‘Oh, shit, yeah… I guess.’

‘Great!’ Ian looks like a fucking puppy dog, placing Mickey’s hand over his eyes and hurrying them through the living room to the sliding doors and their back garden. ‘Okay, I’m removing your hand… _now_.’

‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Ian!’ Mickey growls, immediately covering his eyes with his hand again. He needs to keep that shit out of his eye line and maybe even pretend it’s not there, that his yard’s unblemished once more.

When Mickey decides to look at Ian, Ian lifts his eyebrows and he’s got this smirk on his face that Mickey just really wants to wipe off.

‘You like it?’

‘It looks like a fucking dolphin vomiting water.’

Ian tilts his head and frowns, pointing at the newly ( _extremely_ newly) installed water feature. ‘Look, Mick, it _is_ a dolphin. It’s supposed to be adorable.’

‘It’s disturbing as hell is what it is. It’s got these dead eyes, man. It’s being made to forever throw up water for you to look at it and tell it it’s “adorable”.’

‘Jesus. I didn’t think you _actually_ hated water features,’ Ian mutters amusedly, gently placing his hand on the small of Mickey’s back. This triggers a sigh and Mickey decides, fuck it, old habits die hard, right? Now where the fuck did his crow bar go… ‘Where’re you going?’

‘You’ll see, fucker,’ Mickey murmurs in reply, going to the closet and rifling through the weird collection of items that had gathered on the floor of it. He can hear Ian shuffling around behind him and it just makes him smirk. Finally, his hands land on cold metal, and it’s a good fucking feeling considering he's kept away from this kind of thing for a while now.

When he turns around, Ian’s eyes widen. ‘Oh shit no, no, Mick! Don’t you fucking dare.’

‘Oh yeah, now this is happenin’,’ Mickey replies, easily making his way past Ian and outside. The sounds of a bubbling fucking brook are anything but soothing.

There’s a sick kind of satisfaction that comes with watching a fake dolphin’s head sail across a back yard upon being hit by a crowbar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me over on [Tumblr](http://erghmickey.tumblr.com)


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